


Containment Strategy

by DecidedlyUndecidedly



Category: Hatari (Band)
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Cuckolding, D/s, Dubious Consent, F/M, Masturbation, Mindfuck, Oral Sex, POV First Person, Pegging, S&M, Shibari, dubcon, not very responsible domming, tease and denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:21:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26033356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DecidedlyUndecidedly/pseuds/DecidedlyUndecidedly
Summary: Inspired by a casual conversation about the benefits of keeping men in basements, a series of vignettes imagining (the stage versions of) each of the main members of Hatari in that situation, each one vaguely themed around a different Hatari song.
Kudos: 9





	Containment Strategy

_Klemens - Hlauptu_

“Come on, sweetheart. You can do better than that.”

My voice reverberates slightly off the bare walls of the basement. Klemens twists his arms in the ropes binding them behind his back, wrist to elbow, the muscles in his shoulders rippling, and pulls against the coils wrapped around his left ankle that lift it up towards the ceiling. But these aren’t his main problem. That would be the length connecting the head harness - mostly decorative, though there is something about having rope pressed into his face which sends him deeper into a state of submission - to his cock, meaning that when he lifts his head to kiss and lick my breasts, as I’ve told him to, it bites into him, arousal fighting with pain, each fuelling the other. He lets out a little moan.

“Come closer. Please. I -”

I pull my top up and take hold of the back of the harness so the rope across his cheekbones digs in further.

“Are you telling me what to do?”

“No, I would never, it’s just I can’t -”

“Shut up.”

He falls silent, his heavy breathing the only sound between us. I let my fingers trail along his jaw and then rest on his lips; with the slightest bit of pressure, he takes them gratefully into his mouth, sucking on them and running his tongue between them, my ever-willing slut. I push in further - he gags slightly but doesn’t let up and when I remove them, it’s with an obscene, wet, popping noise. With both hands now I caress his arms, his back, collecting the beads of sweat between his shoulder blades on the tip of my middle finger, then further down, stroking his ass and his shaking thighs, before gently taking hold of his balls. It’s a struggle for him to keep still as I tighten my grip, just on the edge of hurting him, but his body is mine, my prize, and he will not resist.

“If you’re good, I might let you come.” I grasp his cock, trapped in rope. “Do you want to come?”

“Yes.”

“What was that?” Rubbing the head of his cock with my thumb.

“Yes, please, I want to come, if you’ll let me.”

I let go and he groans.

“OK then. Just stay still.”

He tenses up - he doesn’t know what’s about to happen, but he knows it won’t be easy. I take the feather from my pocket and flick it across his lifted calf. The anticipation will make this worse and yes, I can tell he wants to turn his head, try to see what I’m doing, but he screws his eyes shut instead. That’s when I brush it along the sole of his foot. His toes curl and he flexes his ankle; I push his foot flat with my other hand, holding it there as I carry on tracing the feather up and down. He wants to squirm, of course he does, that much is obvious from the increasingly pathetic sounds he’s making. I stop, walk round and crouch in front of him, running the plume between my fingers.

“What’s wrong? I’m only being gentle,” I tease. “Would you rather I cane you there instead?”

“Yes.”

“Really? You’d rather have the cane than this silly little feather?” Of course, I’m not actually surprised. I know he can take a lot of pain. 

“Yes, the cane. Please.”

“Oh, but this is much more fun,” I say, fluttering the feather in his face. He flinches, scrunches up his features. I laugh. “Too bad for you.”

“Whatever you want,” he murmurs, and despite his protests, his cock is getting harder.

“That’s right.” I return to my previous position. “Now, where were we…” 

***

_Matthías - 14 Ár_

I’ve seen Matthías desperate before, but this time he is actually biting the leather cuffs on his wrists - the chain running between them and through a ring on the floor, keeping him on the ground, rattles violently with every movement. As I reach the bottom of the stairs, he lunges towards me.

“This is what you reduce me to,” he snarls. What I reduce him to. Playing the victim once again. 

“I thought you might have cooled off a bit by now.” I walk over to him slowly, each click of my heels ringing out against the hard floor. “That you’d have taken some time to think about your actions.”

“I have been thinking, you can count on that. Thinking about all of this. I’m done. It’s over.” The bare skin of his torso looks even paler than usual in the fluorescent light, in contrast to the black leather trousers and heavy boots. Fragile. 

“Is that so?”

“Yes. I mean it this time."

“I’m sure you do.”

I kneel next to him and start smoothing a hand over his hair.

“Stop that.” 

I stop, fold my hands in my lap. Wait. 

“You’ll want me to undo the cuffs, then.” I reach out and he jerks his hands away. “Or I can give you the key and you can do it yourself.” Silence. He won’t look at me. “Or you can try and gnaw through them, if you prefer.” He clenches and unclenches his fists. That’s it. When he’s fighting with himself, it’s so easy for me to swoop in and claim the victory. I lean closer. “It still feels good, doesn’t it?”

“No.” A pause. “Yes. But it shouldn’t.”

“Why shouldn’t it? If it feels good,” My hand creeps into his hair again, and this time he doesn’t resist as I pull his head back. “Don’t deny yourself.”

Words are slipping away from him already. He looks so beautiful, eyes closed, lips slightly parted. Like an angel.

“It’s not that, it’s you. The way you - it’s not fair.” 

“And I don’t think you’re fair to me.” I straddle his legs, trapping his hands between us. “You’re not stable. One minute saying you’re done, you hate this, you hate me -”

“I’ve never said that I hate you.”

“Not in so many words.” I let go of his hair, rest one hand on the back of his head, the other on the side of his neck. I can feel his pulse. “But when you’re like this, when I can’t do anything right for you - that hurts.” He’s shaking his head softly now, his brow furrowed.

“I don’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know.”

“I don’t have anything left to give.”

And now I’ve won.

“You are a gift, in and of yourself, there is nothing more I could ask for.” I kiss him then, his lips soft and yielding against mine. “Just let me love you the way you need to be loved.” 

He tries to reach for me, but the chain brings him up short. I lay my hand in his and he kisses my palm. Sometimes I think there’s no gesture more intimate.

“Lie down,” I tell him, though the words are hardly necessary - as I push gently on his chest and shift myself onto the floor next to him, already he is moving back, positioning himself with his arms above his head. As I trail kisses down his chest, his stomach, he presses his face into his arm. I don’t think it’s conscious, how he always wants to look away. To feel it more and make it seem less real at the same time. I make him look, when I’m feeling cruel, make him look and say what’s happening and why, to remind him that he is my prisoner. But now is not the time for cruelty. I unbutton his trousers, unzip his fly, pull them down. Lick his cock. He groans. I start to suck, one hand wrapped around the base of his cock, the other resting on his hips, a gentle warning, stay still. A test, really. One he passes. And so his reward - I take him deeper, show him just how much better things are when he stops defying me, when he is obedient and good. He grips the chain tight. I stop. Sit back. Wait a few seconds to see if he will call this unfair. He does nothing: he stays hiding his face, his knuckles white.

“If you can control yourself,” I say, “We’ll continue this upstairs.”

He opens his eyes, looks up at the ceiling.

“I can control myself,” he says quietly.

“Good.”

I attach the cuffs together again once I’ve unthreaded the chain from the ring. He refastens his trousers - I thought he might get rid of them, and the boots. I could insist on that. But I suppose he thinks he’s retaining some kind of dignity and I might as well let him. Once he’s on his feet, he pulls me to him, his hands on my hips, his mouth on my neck, kissing, sucking, biting, bruising. And yes, he can have that too: his ferocity is what always draws me back to him, without it there’s no risk, no fun. Before he can get carried away, however, I twist my hand in the chain and jerk it down. There’s a flash of that rage from before as he breaks away, a hint of disgust. With himself or me, I can’t tell. Both, probably. But that doesn’t matter - with another tug on the chain, he follows me upstairs.

***

_Einar - Þræll_

He’s sitting there, back straight against the wall, knees bent, in the exact same position I left him. Between the straitjacket and being chained to the wall by his collar, it’s not like he has much movement available to him, but nonetheless - it’s almost unnerving. Einar likes being bound, masked, covered up - packaged, is the word that comes to mind - but I often get the feeling this is just an excuse: the bondage frees him from the obligation to be, or pretend to be, a person in the usual sense of the word. Sometimes I think I’m just a tool he uses to get to this state of being, my presence immaterial - but the satisfaction when I break through that stoicism and get a glimpse of the turbulence beneath is more than worth it.

As I stand in front of him, he looks me straight in the eye, not even glancing at the strap on. I didn’t expect his nerve to fail so soon anyway. 

“Happy to see me?” He doesn’t even blink. “My, how you do go on.” 

I spread my coat out on the floor - I wish I could say that I wear faux-fur coats to visit subs in the basement purely for dramatic effect, but it’s more practical than that - and set myself down, legs spread wide. With one hand I hold the strap on while the other goes to my clit as I start to masturbate. Just the sight of him had me wet, and now those little hints of movement, his gaze on my cunt, it’s all driving spikes of desire. There’s something so raw about this. The purest form of what I want, someone tied up and waiting for me to play with them, with their body and mind. Knowing that whatever else he does, however he might appear to most people, there is always a part of him here, with me, craving the whip. So it’s not long before I come, staining the lining of my coat. Not the first time.

“Do you want to taste me?” Hesitantly, he nods. I crawl over to him and remove the mask. Up close now, I can’t miss the way he swallows nervously, that faint line between his eyebrows. He wants me. I need him to want me. I dip my fingers into my cunt again and bring them to his lips, snatching them away for a moment as he opens his mouth. I bring them closer again, but not quite close enough: he has to stick out his tongue to lap at them. For most people that would be humiliating, but I’m not sure he’s capable of being humiliated. There’s never any reluctance, feigned or otherwise, no sense that any of these acts degrade him. Just instinct. I press up against him, palm his hardening cock. I can’t wait any longer. 

“Turn around.” As soon as he is facing the wall, on his knees, I pull his trousers down and take hold of his cock - he lets out a sigh, resting his cheek against the wall. And then - shit, I have to go back, scrabble for the coat, yanking it over so I can get lube from the pocket. Can’t think straight. I squirt some onto my fingers, still damp with my own fluids, and press inside him. He spreads his legs as wide as he can, bites his lip as I start to stroke him again. “Don’t come unless I tell you.” As if he would, but it gives me an excuse to be rough, punctuating this by pulling on the collar, and he grunts as his breathing is restricted just a little, nods his acquiescence. Satisfied, I rub lube onto the strap on, and thrust into him. He moans, the most noise he’s made so far, tinged with pain, and twitches in the straitjacket as I yank his hips back to meet mine and then grab his cock again. I feel like an animal, though I can’t tell whether this animal is killing or fucking. Perhaps to the lion, it's all the same. I’m on the edge again, even without touching myself, and so is he, under my hand. I pull out, stand up and kick him in the shoulder, roll him over so his back’s against the wall again then plant my feet either side of his body so he’s looking up directly at my cunt. I growl as I come with a few quick strokes, the warmth of him, the closeness, his cock leaking beneath me, denied…

I’ve pulled my mind back together now, just about.

“Well,” I say, “Thanks for warming me up for Sólbjört.” He whines softly. It gets him every time, the thought of us together and the fact he’s not allowed to see it. I pull his trousers up, put the mask back on. “You know she loves it when I fuck her hard.” His eyes now, pleading, though I’m not sure he even knows what for. At the top of the stairs, I take one last look back at him. His head is hanging down, one leg stretched out, and he jerks his arms in the straitjacket, this useless struggle the only way he can try to relieve his frustration, if it doesn’t make it worse. I can’t stop smiling. No matter how tough, they always break in the end.

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't leave people tied up on their own in a basement in real life, it's not safe.


End file.
